NAZLAT ABU NAR, West Bank, 6 July 2003 — Farmer Abed Al-Fattah Abdullah glares at the fence as it stretches as far as his eyes can see across the West Bank and sees nothing but ruin for him and his neighbors in the future.
The erection of the controversial security fence, which the Israelis say they have to build across their border with the West Bank to prevent suicide attacks, has become a living nightmare for the 300 residents of Nazlat Abu Nar and thousands of other Palestinians.
The fence, under construction for more a year, passes to the east of Nazlat Abu Nar and two neighboring Palestinian villages, Nazlat Isa and Baqa Al-Sharqiya.
The three villages now find themselves completely cut off and isolated from the rest of the West Bank, wedged between Israel to the west and the fence to the east.
From a nearby hill, which offers a startling view of the fence, the 67-year-old looks down mournfully on the nearby village of Nazlat Al-Gharbiya, which lies just one kilometer to the south east of Nazlat Abu Nar as the crow flies.
Before the fence, one could see clearly from one village to the other. “Now it’s impossible,” said Jawdat Ketana, 55, head of the village council.
As the fence now runs right between the two villages, inhabitants will in future have to make a detour of several kilometers to pass through an opening which will be manned by the Israelis.
It will be a major inconvenience for anyone wanting to visit their family or go to hospital and many Palestinians doubt they will be given freedom of movement through the checkpoints.
But the most serious consequence of the fence for thousands of Palestinian families is without doubt the loss of their farmland and natural resources.
This northwest expanse of the West Bank has been particularly blessed by fertile ground which has yielded olives, fruit and vegetables in abundance.
But the Israeli army has expropriated and razed thousands of hectares, including some of the most fertile land in the region, during the fence-building.
Moreover, thousands of Palestinians now find themselves living on one side of the fence with their fields on the other.
Ketana, who like all the inhabitants of Nazlat Abu Nar is dependent on farming, says he has lost 0.8 hectares (two acres), representing two thirds of his land, as a result of the fence. Now he is left with just a few fields.
Abdullah, who works with his five sons, fears that there will be nothing left.
“It leaves a question mark over our whole future,” he said. “This year has been the most difficult we have ever known.”
All the families in the village were becoming increasingly dependent on aid from international or Palestinian organizations to make ends meet, Abdullah added.
Abdullah said he was not against the idea of the Israelis building a fence but was furious that the route of the fence has been pushed some four kilometers east into the West Bank rather than following the contours of the “green line,” which represents the border between Israel and the occupied territory.
“They are strangling us. The people can no longer breathe,” he said.
What’s more, he has no doubt that “this wall will replace the green line” and become the de facto border between Israel and a future Palestinian state.
Israel began building the security fence in June 2002 in a bid to keep out Palestinian infiltrators and those wanting to carry out attacks.
If construction is completed, the security barrier will stretch 700 kilometers around the West Bank at an estimated cost of six billion shekels (nearly $1.5 billion).
Israeli officials reply that they have no choice but to build the fence in order to prevent suicide bombers crossing into Israeli territory. They claim a similar fence in the Gaza Strip has brought a halt to such incursions.
But the Palestinians remain unmoved by this argument.
“Who created the suicide bombers?” said Muna Fayez Odeh, a young Palestinian from the neighboring village of Irtah who was cradling his young baby in his arms as he attended a demonstration in Baqa Sharqiya to protest against the fence.
